The Lionspaw
by SlumberingVoid
Summary: Bran still discovers the incest, but gets away before he can be pushed. But the Mountain has accompanied the Lannisters north, and Cersei wants Bran silenced. Minor Bran/Jojen.
1. Chapter 1

WINTERFELL, THE NORTH, WESTEROS

Winterfell was one of the oldest castles in the known world, built over eight thousand years ago by Bran the Builder as a castellan from which he and his family would rule over their fellow Northmen. Unlike the castles built by those in the south of Westeros, such as the lustrous white marble of the Lannister's Casterly Rock or golden-coloured bricks of the Tyrell's Highgarden, Winterfell was built from solid grey stone that might not have been picturesque but hadn't changed over the centuries it had stood. A few towers were in slight disrepair and one was completely open to the elements, known as the Broken Tower, but the castle itself stood unbroken and proud. Flying from the ramparts and battlements were light green banners depicting the snarling head of a grey direwolf, the sigil of House Stark who were the ruling Great House of the North. House Stark had a proud lineage going all the way back to the very first of the First Men to inhabit Westeros and were highly respected and loved by their vassals and bannermen. The current Lord of Winterfell was Eddard Stark, known as Ned to his friends and family, who inherited the position after his father and older brother were murdered by King Aerys II Targaryen. His sister Lyanna was abducted by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and when her brother Brandon demanded he be punished, the Mad King arrested him and ordered his father Lord Rickard Stark come and answer for it. When Lord Rickard arrived, he was burnt alive in the throne room whilst his son strangled himself to death trying to reach a longsword to free himself and his dying father. The act horrified Westeros enough to rise in rebellion and overthrow the Mad King. Lyanna was found dead nonetheless, and her betrothed killed Rhaegar in grief. Lyanna was laid to rest with her family in the crypts beneath Winterfell, where the earliest Starks had been buried as well.

Now Winterfell was to play host to the King, the new King, Robert Baratheon. A raven had come from King's Landing announcing the death of Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, and that King Robert was riding north with his household. Lord Eddard had been grim, for he knew the only reason why Robert would do that would be to ask him to become Hand of the King and he was torn. He did not want to refuse his old friend, but then again the thought of leaving Winterfell and the North, where life was simple and strong if a bit dull, for King's Landing with it's stench of human waste and irreversible corruption made him sick to his stomach. But right now he was not showing it; he was standing on a balcony with his wife Catelyn, watching their second-youngest son Brandon practicing with a bow. Two young men stood off to the side, watching him; Robb Stark, their oldest child and heir to Winterfell, and Jon Snow, Ned's bastard son. Behind them, hiding (poorly) because they were supposed to be in lessons, were three children, two boys and a girl. The girl and one of the boys wore curious clothing in various shades of green, whilst the second boy wore clothing like the rest of his family. Rickon Stark was their youngest and a willfull, stubborn and wild child; he watched gleefully as Bran missed his shots. The green ones were crannogmen, natives of the swampy region known as The Neck, which separated the North from the other southern kingdoms. Meera Reed, the elder, was a skilled huntress and weaponmaster despite her young age and had accompanied her brother Jojen to Winterfell to keep an eye on him. Jojen was less martial and more gentle, a dreamer almost, whose eyes were almost always focused on something other than what was around him, with one exception. The boy's eyes were fixed resolutely on Bran, not moving from him nor even blinking at times; the two had become quite close from the moment Jojen arrived at Winterfell and were the subject of quite a few jokes amongst the people of Winterfell. Ned and Catelyn privately thought that at least they didn't have to worry about one of their children not finding anyone they liked. The two of them together were just too cute for anyone to make any negative remarks; that and Meera was quite intimidating in protecting her baby brother. Lined up and watching in a row were their direwolves, the symbol of House Stark and recently discovered in the Wolfswood. A pregnant direwolf had been found wounded during a hunting trip and they'd brought her back to Winterfell. She had not made it, sadly, but had lived long enough to bear her young. Six of them, one for each of the Stark children and the last for Jon, an albino runt with red eyes. All of them were now the size of a young hunting dog despite being only a few weeks old, though the wolves belonging to the Stark sisters were elsewhere with their mistresses.

Bran raised his arm, loosed an arrow and missed again, making him grunt in anger. Jon bent down and spoke comfortingly to him.

"Go on, Father's watching. And your mother. And Jojen."

Bran looked over at Jojen and the boy gave him a wide, friendly and eager smile, which he returned. The gesture between them was not missed by Ned and Cat, who smiled.

"Those two are like lovesick puppies.", Ned remarked to himself.

"Oh stop it, Ned! It's adorable!", Cat said, clapping her husband's shoulder.

Down below, Bran loosed another arrow and it soared over the target by a good margin. This made Jon and Robb crack up laughing, with Rickon giggling as well.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?", Ned's voice called out.

Jojen and Meera glared at Rickon, who stopped giggling but also glared back.

"Go on, Bran. Keep practicing.", Ned said.

Bran nodded and nocked another arrow.

"Don't think too much, Bran.", Jon said.

"Relax your bow arm.", Robb said.

An arrow thudded into the bullseye mark… and Bran looked round to see his sister, Arya, standing there with a bow having just fired that arrow. The others looked at her with astonishment as she smiled and gave a little curtsey. Bran threw his bow and arrow aside and went for her, but she was already running. They laughed to see this.

"Go on, Bran! Catch her!", Jon called.

Ned and Cat watched this scene, their happy family, with great joy. The smiles were still on their faces as they turned to the man approaching them.

"Lord Stark. My Lady."

Ser Rodrik Cassel was the castellan of Winterfell, a great bulky man with white hair and a beard woven into a distinctive muttonchop style. Beside him was Theon Greyjoy, the Stark's ward. He was born on the Iron Islands and had been taken as a ward to ensure the behaviour of his father, though it was widely acknowledged that his life in the North was much happier. Indeed, he was treated more like a son than a hostage by the Starks. Ser Rodrik's face was grave.

"The guardsman just rode in from the hills. They've captured a deserter from the Night's Watch.", he said.

Ned's smile disappeared, as did Cat's; both of them knew what this mean.

"Get the lads to saddle their horses.", Ned said to Theon.

Theon nodded and departed.

"Do you have to?", Cat said pleadingly.

"He swore an oath, Cat.", Ned said simply.

"Law is law, milady.", Ser Rodrik said.

Ned paused for a moment, thinking.

"Tell Bran he's coming too.", he said.

Ser Rodrik nodded and left them. Cat looked distressed.

"Ned. Ten is too young to see such things.", she said.

Ned looked at her with a grim face.

"He won't be a boy forever. And winter is coming.", he said.

And he strode off, leaving Cat alone on the balcony. Down below, Meera and Rickon were helping Robb to retrieve the arrows and Jon was putting them back in their holders. He looked up at Cat and she glared back at him, awful coldness in her eyes that was absent at all other times. Jon bowed his head and she turned and left.

The party rode north from Winterfell to the place where the soldiers were waiting with the captured deserter, Ned, Robb, Theon, Jon, Bran and Jojen, with a small contingent of soldiers led by Ser Rodrik and his nephew, Jory Cassel. The direwolves trotted alongside them, the horses being used to them now; Bran's was Summer, Robb's Grey Wind and Jon's was Ghost. The Starks, Theon and Jojen were all wearing huge thick fur cloaks; even though it was technically summer, it was never warm in the North, and winter was coming. Bran rode side-by-side with Jojen, both of them talking quietly, until they saw the men waiting for them. They all dismounted and walked up as two soldiers led the deserter up to Lord Eddard; he was a young man, probably in his late twenties, and wore the customary black of the Night's Watch. He was fearful, which wasn't surprising, but did not seem fearful of his impending death; no, he was afraid of something else. He looked at Lord Eddard, then at Theon who was acting as swordbearer.

"I know I broke my oath, and I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers."

A shudder ran through the gathering at those words; the White Walkers, the creatures of legend who came with the Long Night, riding giant ice spiders and killing all in their path and raising their corpses to become wights that served them.

"People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm a coward. Tell them I'm sorry."

He finished. Ned looked at him, mulling over what he said, then nodded to the soldiers behind him. They forced him to his knees and he bent his head over, presenting his neck. Ned drew the sword that Theon held, from a scabbard made of an entire wolf's pelt. The blade made a deadly sing as it was drawn, a huge two-handed greatsword with a smoky-grey blade. Valyrian steel, a rare and ancient material. This sword, Ice, had been forged many centuries ago and been in the possession of the Starks for over 200 years as their heirloom. Ned rested the point of the greatsword on the ground and bent his head, intoning.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard, of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

Bran was aware of Jon behind him.

"Don't look away. Father will know if you do.", he said.

Ned hefted the sword in his hands and Bran felt his hand steal into Jojen's as his father swung Ice up and brought her down, slicing the man's head clean off with one stroke. Bran fought the urge to vomit but did not look away. Many of the surrounding men made noises or gestures of finality; it was done.

"You did well.", Jon said.

Jojen gave his hand a squeeze, which he returned; his feelings for the boy were quite well-developed. Ned put Ice back in her scabbard and walked over to them as they were readying their horses for the journey back.

"You understand why I did it?", he said.

"Jon said he was a deserter.", Bran replied simply.

"But you understand why I had to kill him?", Ned asked.

"Our way is the old way.", said Bran.

"Yes. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.", Ned said.

Bran did not immediately respond to that.

"Is it true he saw the White Walkers?", he asked.

Ned inhaled sharply.

"I don't know, Bran. They're supposed to only be legends, but… Winter Is Coming, and I can feel there's something else about this one."

Bran gulped; he could, too. Winter was coming….. but what else was coming with it?

WINTERFELL

The castle was ancient, yes, but the godswood was even more so. A small enclosed area of forest containing various trees, mostly pine, and mysterious black pools heated by volcanic vents beneath them. Their surface was like black glass, reflecting like a mirror the sky and the trees above. The centrepiece of the godswood, however, was the weirwood. This tree was thousands of years old, with bark whiter than fresh-fallen snow or exposed bone and red leaves. Carved into the trunk was a weathered old face, with blood-red sap leaking from the eyes and mouth. Beneath the spreading branches of this tree was Ned's favourite place to worship the Old Gods, though truthfully there was little ceremony in doing so. The Old Gods of the Forest weren't much for elaborate rituals, organised ceremonies or senior clergy; Ned often came here to think on things, the state of the world, his place in it, that sort of thing. Right now he was cleaning Ice, running a cloth along the flat side of her great blade to remove the blood of the deserter. No need for sharpening her, though; Valyrian steel never lost it's edge. He looked up to see Catelyn approaching, a note in her hand.

"All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here.", she said.

The godswood could have that effect on all of them; it was an ancient, cold and primeval place, from a time long before there were Seven Kingdoms, or even men. Ned grinned.

"You have five Northern children, Cat. You're not an outsider.", he said.

Cat gave him a weak smile.

"I wonder if the Old Gods agree.", she said, glancing around her as though expecting them to emerge.

"It's your gods with all the rules.", Ned replied.

She smiled again.

"More news?", he asked, indicating the scroll in her hand.

"Yes. Sent from White Harbour, the king and his court rested there for a few days before departing. They should be a day's ride from here by now.", Cat said.

"Good. Is the castle ready?", he asked.

"Ready as it will ever be.", Cat replied.

The sound of giggling made them look round; Bran, Jojen and Rickon had just come running into the godswood, Summer and Shaggydog, Rickon's wolf, tearing along behind them. They were congratulating themselves on something, and what it was became apparent when Maester Luwin came hobbling in after them. The old maester was getting on in years, but still a faithful servant.

"All right, where've you gone? It's no use hiding, I saw you come in here!", he called.

The two parents smiled as they watched this. Winterfell might not be as grand as King's Landing, but it was what it needed to be for them; home.

The convoy was seen long before it arrived, virtue of being atop the great keep. Bran watched, amazed at the sheer number of people and horses; never had he seen so many! He turned and ran along the roof, climbing carefully down the wall of the tower to the battlements below, running along them to climb down further. Watching him below were Jojen and Summer, who stood as Catelyn and Maester Luwin came along. Catelyn shook her head.

"Gods, but they grow fast.", she remarked to Luwin.

Then she followed their gaze and saw Bran climbing down from the tower.

"Brandon!", she said sharply.

Bran winced; the use of his full name meant she was not happy.

"I saw the king!", he said.

"How many times have I told you, no climbing!", she said, not in the mood.

"But he's coming right now! Down our road!", he kept up.

He got down in time to be cornered by her, looking very severe.

"I want you to promise me. No. More. Climbing.", she said with authority.

He glanced down at his feet.

"I promise.", he said solemnly.

Catelyn straightened up, a knowing look on her face.

"Do you know what?", she said.

"What?", he said, half-curiously, half-nervously.

"You always look at your feet before you lie.", she replied.

Bran smiled and gave a wee laugh; she'd rumbled him. She smiled, shaking her head as her anger evaporated.

"Go. Run and find your father. Tell him the King is close."

Bran and Jojen dashed off, Summer hot on their heels. The castle was already ready and waiting for their guests; all they needed to do was get everyone in position. Robb, Sansa and Bran were the easiest to get dressed up in their finest furs; Arya disappeared almost immediately after Old Nan got her dressed and Rickon almost had to be physically restrained, snarling and biting for good measure. Arya had snuck away to watch the royal procession arrive, wearing a pilfered Stark guardsman's helmet to disguise herself from the smallfolk who were all eagerly craning their necks and heads to catch a glimpse. The outriders were the first to ride through the outer gates of Winterfell, bearing the banners of their liege lords. The men with the orange were Baratheon men, the King's men, bearing the black stag on gold that was the symbol of that noble house. Following them were men in elaborate metal armour in red, black and gold with open face helmets, flying the gold lion on red of House Lannister, the Queen's house. Following on was a man in golden armour and a white cloak, one of the Kingsguard, and behind him came a teenage boy in red with a magnificent cape of red and black who must have been Prince Joffrey. But Arya's attention was quickly captured by the next person on, a great hulking armoured fellow in a helm that was molded like a snarling hound.

The Starks and their household stood in the courtyard of Winterfell's main keep awaiting the arrival of the King. Catelyn suddenly became aware of something.

"Where's Arya? Sansa, where's your sister?", she asked.

Sansa gave a small shrug, then noticed something and nodded towards it. Arya quickly ran past her mother, but Ned caught her.

"Hold it, young lady. What are you doing with that on?", he said, removing her pilfered helmet.

She grinned sheepishly at him, noticing many of those behind him smiling indulgently including Jon, Theon, Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik. Ned handed the helmet to Ser Rodrik and Arya grudgingly took her place in line, shouldering Bran out of the way. Just in time, for the first of the riders was entering the courtyard, the lead Kingsguard and Prince Joffrey. Sansa inhaled sharply as she saw him, staring around the courtyard of Winterfell before alighting his eyes on her. She flushed, thinking he was attracted to her, but her fellow family members frowned slightly; they saw the contempt in his eyes as he absorbed Winterfell for the first time, taking in it's grim and grey but solid towers. Robb, Bran and Arya glared; Winterfell might not have been the prettiest castle, but it was their home and had stood for 8,000 years. A big and heavy carriage rolled in next, then came the King himself, flanked by his Kingsguard. King Robert Baratheon was a big man who had the look of a great warrior gone to seed, with a large black beard streaked with grey. They all knelt at the sight of him, watching the feet of his horse as servants approached with a set of steps for him to dismount, followed by his booted feet as he strode over to them. He gestured for them to stand and they did, the older ones groaning with the effort. Ned bowed his head.

"Your Grace.", he said.

King Robert ran his eyes up and down his old friend.

"You've got fat.", he said simply.

Eyebrows went up all around as they looked at Ned expectantly, waiting for his reaction. Ned looked the King up and down and then made a gesture that screamed 'Excuse me?'. Robert's face was impassive, then he broke into a smile and laughter, which Ned copied before the two old friends embraced. Robert held out his arms to Catelyn.

"Cat!", he said warmly, giving her a hug.

"Your Grace.", she replied.

Robert ruffled the hair of little Rickon, who only refrained from biting or snarling because of the deadly look his mother shot him, before moving back to Ned.

"Nine years! Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?", he said.

"Guarding the North for you, your Grace. Winterfell is yours.", Ned replied.

The carriage doors had been opened and it's occupants disembarked; a troupe of maids and two young children, followed by the Queen. The children, Myrcella and Tommen, were blonde like their older brother but were looking around at Winterfell in awe rather than contempt. They, at least, were decent then. The Queen, on the other hand, had a look of cold disdain as she hiked up her beautiful furs and walked towards them. Ned kissed the hand she offered.

"My Queen.", he said politely.

At that moment, there was a considerable commotion at the gates as a huge black destrier rode aggressively into the courtyard. But if the horse was huge, it was nothing compared to the man riding it though this explained it's size; any ordinary horse would have been broken in two had he tried to ride it. He wore plate armour and a full-face helmet, both of which were thicker than any armour ever seen, and slung over his back was a sword that ordinary men would struggle to lift with both hands yet which he could wield with one. Gasps and shudders of shock, horror, fear and outrage reverberated through the crowd, particularly the Northerners. Ned's face twisted with hatred; Ser Gregor Clegane, known as The Mountain That Rides, Tywin Lannister's lapdog and the one who murdered Prince Rhaegar's wife, Princess Elia Martell of Dorne, and her little children. He risked a glance at Catelyn and saw her twist her mouth in distaste. Robert glanced back.

"Ah.", he said.

"We were not informed that you would be bringing… him.", Ned said with distaste.

"Yes, Ned. She insisted on bringing him, wouldn't shut up until I agreed, no matter how much I said that you would never stand for it."

The Queen gave him a look of loathing.

"I insisted we bring Ser Gregor because I wanted the utmost assurance that we would be safe during our trip.", she said coldly.

This did not diminish the fact that the entire atmosphere in the courtyard had turned icy cold. Ser Gregor removed his helm and glared round at the assembled Northerners, who shuddered under his glare but did not back down and met it with equal dislike. They knew what this man had done, and probably still did for all they knew, and they did not like him. When Northerners did not like someone, they made it clear. Catelyn, ever the diplomat, interceded.

"Your Grace, there was no need. Winterfell's garrison is strong and powerful.", she said.

"I'm sure.", Queen Cersei replied, in a tone of contempt.

Catelyn bristled, as did many of the other Northerners; they were not used to being insulted in their own lands, their own home. Ned could tell this was going to be an awkward visit, but Robert had moved on to Robb.

"You must be Robb.", he said, almost crushing the Stark heir's hand as he shook it.

"Yes, your Grace.", he said.

"Good, good. Named for me, I take it?", King Robert said.

"Yes, sir.", Robb replied.

"Always the sentimental type, Ned."

Ned grinned and Arya gave a giggle at her sibling's embarrassed face. Next was Sansa.

"My, you're a pretty one. Stark name, but Tully looks.", Robert said.

"Yes, your Grace. Thank you.", said Sansa, curtseying politely.

Then Arya. Robert peered curiously at her, as though trying to determine if she was a girl or a boy.

"And your name is?", he asked.

"Arya.", she replied.

"Arya. Good Northern name, sharp and to the point like a sword. You'd suit one, actually."

Arya beamed at this and shot the rest of her family a look that screamed 'You heard it, told you so!'.

"That's done it. Now we'll never hear the end of it.", Catelyn whispered to her husband.

And finally Bran, who blinked up at him curiously.

"Show us your muscles, boy.", Robert said.

Bran obliged, though there wasn't much to speak of.

"Mmm. Soldier, maybe. No, rider. Yes, I think you'll make a good horseman.", Robert said.

Bran smiled. Robert straightened up and turned to Ned.

"Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects.", he said.

"We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait?", Cersei said coldly.

"No.", Robert said.

"Very well. Go fawn over the statue of the wolf bitch who stole your heart."

Stupid, cold, heartless and selfish as she was, even Cersei knew she had just crossed a line. There were almost roars of outrage at her words from the surrounding Northerners. The smallfolk clenched their fists and ground their teeth whilst the Stark guards tightened their grips on their weapons. Robert let out a bellow of rage that shook the very air.

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT ABOUT LYANNA! DON'T YOU DARE!"

But even that paled in comparison to the death glares the Starks were giving her, so intense that it was a wonder the Lannister queen did not burst into flames. Ned in particular, calm, stoic, unruffled Ned Stark had gone white with rage and his eyes were blazing. Catelyn laid a hand on his arm, her own voice trying to remain steady.

"Perhaps we should withdraw inside.", she said tersely.

Winter was not due for another year, at least, but the atmosphere in Winterfell at that moment was so cold you could have sworn it had come early.


	2. Chapter 2

The incident in the courtyard aside, the arrival and settling of the royal court at Winterfell was easy enough. The Mountain and his unruly beast of a mount was given separate quarters in one of the emptier parts of the castle and the servants were encouraged to stay out of his way as often as possible, which they were only too glad to do. The Great Hall was set up for a feast to celebrate the arrival of the King, banners being hung up and the finer foods and beverages being brought out of storage. The Queen stayed in her chambers most of the time, complaining bitterly about the North and it's people, how Winterfell paled in comparison to King's Landing and bitching about how her oafish husband had dragged her and her poor children from the comfort and civilisation of the capital to this desolate wasteland of barbarians. All of this was said to her own sycophants, of course, and Joffrey shared her contempt for the North so he listened. Tommen and Myrcella, however, did not share their mother and brother's feelings on the North and Winterfell. On the contrary, they found it absolutely fascinating, particularly the godswood with it's primeval aura and ancient white weirwood tree. Tommen attached himself to Bran, Jojen and Rickon, who at first were irritated but the little prince soon grew on them. Bran showed him how to ride, Jojen taught him how to tell the different kinds of bird and animal calls and Rickon was just the right sort of rough-and-tumble boy Tommen had wanted for a friend. Myrcella, on the other hand, had quickly endeared herself to both Sansa, by showing her some royal embroidering techniques, and Arya for not only not mocking her lack of skill with it, but sewing her a direwolf doll rather than a princess doll. Sansa was quite taken with Joffrey, her attraction blinding her to what the rest of her family had seen when he rode into Winterfell, the contempt in his eyes for the place.

"Tell me of your brother, Myrcella. Is he as handsome and brave and kind as he looks.", she asked.

Myrcella's smile faded and she looked grimly at her lap. Arya was not stupid; she knew the girl was struggling with herself.

"He is…. not what he looks like, Sansa.", Myrcella said finally.

"What do you mean?", Sansa asked tremulously.

Myrcella was a sweet girl who, as much of a cunt as her older brother was, could not bring herself to speak ill of him.

"Let's just say, you could do better, Sansa. A lot better.", she said, wringing her hands nervously.

Sansa looked disappointed, but before she could speak the door opened and Joffrey came in.

"Not interrupting anything, am I? Oh, nothing important but the wittering of women.", he said snidely.

Arya's grip on her sewing needle tightened; Myrcella was giving her lessons, and was a much better teacher than Septa Mordane (less caustic with criticism), but right now all she wanted to do was drive it into the little prick's hand. Sansa stared at him, trying to work out if he was making some joke, and Myrcella just stared at her hands, which were trembling in her lap; the poor girl clearly was frightened, if not terrified, of her older brother. Arya looked at him and her dislike deepened, threatening to spill over into hatred. His face was cruel and arrogant, like his mother's; indeed, there was so little of Robert Baratheon in him. There was no courage, no strength, no camaraderie or joviality. And the little shit would be king when Robert died or stepped down; Arya whispered a prayer to the Old Gods that they do something to make it not so, whilst the royal brat was here in the North and thus where the Old Gods had their strongest power. Little did she know just how true her wish was about to become. For the prick of a prince had visited the godswood hoping to hunt some game, and upon finding none had stalked angrily through it, sword drawn as he slashed at bushes, at branches, stabbed the ground and kicked the trees. When he reached the ancient white weirwood he had peered disdainfully at the weathered old face carved into it's trunk.

"Northern savages, worshipping a tree!", he sneered.

Raising his sword, Lion's Tooth, he pressed the point of it to the old face and began driving the point into one of the eyes, noticing with awe and satisfaction how the sap that appeared was like blood. He pushed it in further, the only regret being that it wasn't a real eyeball….. and suddenly the sword was spat right back out of the tree. Some tangible and very powerful presence pushed the sword away. Pushed him away, too; Joffrey felt something push him hard in the chest, enough to knock him flat on his back. When he scrambled back to his feet in terror, looking wildly about for his sword, he saw it lying on the ground with the blade blackened, mangled and bent, smoke issuing from it. He turned to the tree and saw something that made him nearly piss his hose; the face's expression had changed. Beforehand it had been a kind of melancholy look, but now it had changed to an angry frown.

"What? No. No, it's just a trick of the light, is all."

But even so, he hurried out of that godswood as fast as he could. As he did so, he could have sworn he heard something borne on the sudden wind that sprang up; laughter, in an ancient voice like wood creaking. Joffrey would never admit it, not in a million years, but for the first time in his life he did not feel like a prince, or higher than all the others in the world. In that moment, in that godswood and the castle that held and protected it, he felt like a speck of dust. The Old Gods were watching him, you see. And they did not like being poked in the eye.


	3. Chapter 3

That night the banquet was in full swing, the Northmen pulling out all the stops to make their honoured guests feel welcome in Winterfell. King Robert and his Baratheon men were enjoying themselves immensely, booming as loud as the Northmen with each cup of ale or wine. The Kingsguard stood at intervals, their golden armour and white cloaks making them stick out a mile amidst the more plain greys and blacks of the Northern clothes, but most of them did not seem to be enjoying themselves. Ser Meryn Trant stared contemptuously around the hall, his cold cruel eyes lingering on several of the young maidens either serving the guests or sitting around the tables gossipping. Lannister men-at-arms were not present, instead taking to their makeshift barracks and more 'civilised' talk and company; the redcloaks, as they were known, had not endeared themselves to the people of Winterfell by stalking about in pairs with their noses in the air, acting like they were so much better. It was not an attitude welcomed by the Northerners, and already two had nearly gotten into a scuffle with some Stark guards when they made ribald remarks about a passing girl who happened to be the sister of one of the Stark men; only the fact that the Westerlands men were their guests stopped the man from running them through. Lord Eddard was not at the high table, but Lady Catelyn was, trying vainly to make polite conversation with Queen Cersei whose cold rebuffals were starting to grate on Catelyn's nerves. Lounging against the wall with a look of cool detachment was Jaime Lannister, the Queen's twin brother and also a Kingsguard. Cersei's attention seemed focused largely on him, but he was looking over to where Ned was talking with a younger man in black; Benjen Stark, his younger brother and member of the Night's Watch. They were discussing the ranger Ned had executed, and the gravity of his warnings.

"He rode out with two others, Gared and Ser Waymar Royce. They're still missing.", Benjen said.

"He spoke of seeing White Walkers. I wanted to dismiss it as madness, excuses and such, but I just can't shake the feeling he was right. Winter is coming, but is something else coming with it?", Ned replied.

"The wildlings have been more restless of late. More and more are coming south towards the Wall. Hunter tribes, gatherer tribes, fishing, ice and forest. Even Thenns. Thenns, Ned! They're famous for never leaving that valley of theirs yet those brothers who return swear they've seen them milling around. Look scared out of their minds, too, and what could possibly scare Thenns?", Benjen said.

"I'll raise the issue with Robert. He'll be here a while anyway, regardless of whether or not I agree to his request.", said Ned.

"Will you? If winter is coming bearing darkness with it, I think it best to have the Stark remain in Winterfell. You belong in the North, Ned.", Benjen said.

"Mmm. Well, we can talk about that later. For now, let's enjoy the feast."

But before Ned could return to the high table, he found his way blocked by the imposing, chiseled and blond figure of the Kingslayer.

"Lord Stark.", Jaime said with an obsequious little bow.

"Ser Jaime.", Ned responded politely.

Jaime's eyebrows rose slightly.

"What? Not Kingslayer?", he asked.

"Not right now. Perhaps later.", Ned responded.

"Oh. Yes, plenty of opportunities to spar in the capital. If you accept the offer, that is."

"Spar verbally or with a blade?"

"Depends on my mood and the location."

"Mmm. Well, I hope you're enjoying Winterfell."

Jaime cast his eyes around the Great Hall.

"Well, it's not Casterly Rock but it does have a certain charm about it. For starters, everyone I run into doesn't piss about with fancy words but gets right to the point.", Jaime said.

"The North is not much for small talk. More important things to draw breath for."

"Quite. One thing I can never stomach is listening to all those lords and nobles fawning over the king and taking hours to get to the bloody point of things."

"Perhaps we share something in common, then, Kingslayer."

"Perhaps we do, Lord Stark."

They parted with their enmity somewhat lessened. Not buried, but lessened. Sansa was talking to Myrcella and Jeyne Poole, the daughter of WInterfell's steward Vayon Poole, whilst Tommen sat and laughed with Bran, Jojen and Rickon. Cersei was watching them like a hawk, her gaze possibly trying to spear the Northern children speaking with her own brood.

"Young Myrcella and Tommen seem to be enjoying themselves here.", Catelyn said.

"It would seem so.", Cersei replied.

"My son told me that he had a lot of fun with Tommen."

"Yes. If by fun, you mean rolling around in the dirt like savages."

Catelyn bristled at this.

"It is simply what boys do at that age. Gods know, I try to tell them otherwise but they are willful and stubborn children.", she said, her voice with an edge like ice to it now.

"Not my boys. They were raised to be royal, to know their place in the world.", Cersei replied.

Catelyn's insides were burning with rage now, and she decided any further stabs at conversation would be to risk her self-control. But Cersei was feeling spiteful and since her hated dwarf brother Tyrion was not here she was looking for another outlet. And as her eyes found Bran and Jojen, she found it.

"Your son seems awfully close and…. affectionate with that boy. What's his name?", she asked.

"Jojen Reed, your Grace. Son of Lord Howland Reed, of the crannogmen who inhabit the Neck.", Catelyn replied, sensing where this might be going.

"I see. Well, in the south we would find it unseemly. If a boy showed certain proclivities like that, it would cast doubt upon the character of his family and house. Pity for you."

Catelyn stood up abruptly, her heavy wooden chair making a loud noise as it scraped along the stone floor. Several heads jumped up to see why.

"Excuse me.", Catelyn said stonily.

And she left the high table. Ned was talking to Jory Cassel, but the young captain left at her approach. Ned clearly saw her anguish and they stepped outside for some clear night air.

"Ned, I'm sorry but this is becoming more difficult to bear by the minute.", she said.

"I know, Cat. We've extended them guest right, but the Lannister entourage aren't exactly making themselves out to be polite guests. You know young Harken nearly gutted one of those redcloaks for making advances towards his sister?", Ned replied.

"I heard vaguely about that. But it is the Queen herself who is the most difficult. I just endured her making remarks about Bran's relationship with the Reed boy that would turn your stomach. To speak of a host's family in such a manner."

Ned remembered the earlier incident when they arrived, the remarks the Lannister queen had made about his late sister and how the anger had risen in him like lava. But there was something about the queen that he did not know, but he'd never felt such hatred towards any person before; not even the Mad King for killing his father and brother, or Rhaegar for stealing his sister away. The oldest boy, Joffrey, as well was someone he did not like though he did not know why. Robert had proposed betrothing Joffrey to Sansa and though Sansa herself had shown some eagerness, Ned was not so sure. The boy might have been handsome, aye, but there was something about his inner nature that Ned was sure would make him an inadequate husband to his daughter. But best to save those concerns for the next day; it would be an early rise, for Robert wished to go hunting for some game. A cold wind blew through the courtyard and Ned shivered even though he was wearing padded clothing. Cat felt it too, and drew closer to him.

"Brrr! Ned, did you feel that? Chilled me right down to my bones, that did.", she said.

"Me as well. There is an unnatural chill in the air.", Ned replied.

As one, they both turned in the direction the cold wind had blown from; north. They knew they were looking towards the Wall, even though it was many miles away, but Ned sensed that the wind itself came from far beyond it. Far, far beyond the Wall. Benjen's words came back to him and he shivered again. Catelyn shivered and drew in closer to him.

"The wind is very cold tonight, Ned, but I don't think that's what makes me shudder.", she said.

"I know, Cat. There is something else here.", Ned said.

A whispering came on the wind to him, making him prick up his ears. It seemed to be coming from the godswood.

"Cat? Do you hear that?", he asked.

"What?", she replied.

"A voice on the wind, like the wind through the trees.", he said.

"I….. Wait, yes, I do.", Catelyn replied.

She inclined her head, listening.

"It's coming from the godswood. I swear by both old and new, something's calling in there."

Hand in hand, Ned and Catelyn walked towards the godswood, which was in darkness. They called for guards to bring torches and walked in with them held high in front of them. The whisperings got louder as they approached the weirwood, the white bark stark in the torchlight. Ned peered at it closely, then gave a yell and started back violently, causing several guards to draw their swords reflexively.

"What is it, Ned?", Catelyn asked.

"The face! The face in the tree, it's changed!", he said.

True enough, when they shone their torches at it they saw that the old face, which had had a melancholy expression for as long as anyone could remember, had indeed changed. The mouth had twisted into a scowl, one of irritation but not anger, and fresh sap had spurted from the right eye. Ned bent in closer to examine it and saw something glinting in the bark. He pulled it out and, seeing what it was in the torchlight, let out a strangled yell.

"What is it?", Catelyn asked.

"A bit off a sword. Someone stabbed the tree!", Ned said, his fury palpable.

Had this happened when she was new to Winterfell, Catelyn might have wondered why her husband was so angry over a tree. But she knew how sacred the tree was to the Old Gods, and a wave of fury rose in her as well; though they seemed strange and alien to her, the Old Gods were important to her husband and her children and they had at least allowed her into their midst, if not outright welcomed her.

"Who?", she said.

"Lord Stark?", called a voice.

One of the guards was straightening, holding up a long object that looked bent and twisted. Ned and Catelyn hurried over, and as the object caught the light from their torches Cat gave an exclamation.

"That's the prince's sword! I remember seeing it on him when he arrived!", she said.

"Did he have it on his belt at the feast?", Ned asked, trying to remember himself.

"I don't think so. But what happened to it?", Cat asked.

The sword's blade looked like it had been run over by a stampede of horses; crumpled like paper, no mean feat since it was the finest steel in the Seven Kingdoms, and oddly blackened and scorched as well. A bit at the tip was broken off, matching what was in Ned's hand.

"The boy stabbed the tree? Whatever for?", Ned said.

"I don't know, Ned. But judging by the state of that sword, I don't think something liked it."

They turned and looked at the frowning face carved into the bark. In the flickering light of the torches, the shadows playing about it's eyes and mouth made it look almost alive. He felt something surging through the ground beneath him, where he knew the tree's ancient and very widespread roots reached deep as they anchored it to the earth. A feeling of dread stole through him, fearing for the tree and also something else. He turned to the guards.

"Place the godswood under guard. And have two men standing by the weirwood, as well."

"Yes, Lord Stark."

He strolled out of the godswood, the ruined sword in his hands and Catelyn walking by his side.

"Do we accuse the prince?", she asked.

"No, Cat. I don't want to offend Robert, or the Queen. Her especially, since I don't want to give her any more reason to hate us."

"Then what?"

"Just bury it, for now. I think the tree made it's displeasure known, given the condition of this sword. But I'll be keeping a sharp eye on the prince for the rest of his visit."

"As will I. And what of Robert's plan to have him marry Sansa?"

"I'll see if I can derail it. All of a sudden, I don't want our daughter anywhere near him or his mother. Maybe Domeric Bolton, she seemed to like him when he visited, and he doesn't seem to be tarred with his house's history."

"I don't want him marrying her either. And Domeric did seem like a nice boy, so I see where you're going with this.

They went inside, still talking. But the matter of the weirwood still lingered in their minds even as they went to bed that night. The tree had seemed angry, restless, and there was an aura of power around it. Something had stirred in it.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning dawned grim and grey, a typical Northern day, but with what King Robert called blood on the wind, indicating that there would be a good hunt ahead of them. Winterfell's provisions were hardly low, but they welcomed any addition and Robert had no desire to, as he put it, "sit on my arse for the next week". He, most of his retainers, Joffrey, Ned, Robb, Jon, Theon and a number of Winterfell men-at-arms would ride out to hunt some boars for the evening meal, leaving the Lannister household behind, including the Mountain. Ned intended to keep a close eye on Joffrey, still suspicious with him regarding the weirwood tree. Meera and Jojen were with Maester Luwin, writing a letter to send to their father at Greywater Watch; no ravens could find the place, for it was constantly moving through the swamps that it protected, but the letter would be taken south by a rider and passed on to one of the crannogmen. Bran was left to his own devices, so he decided the time was ripe for some more climbing. The Great Keep was easy enough, but he wanted a challenge. So he chose the Broken Tower. No one really went near that area of the castle, so there would be little chance of being caught. He enjoyed climbing; it made him feel free and daring. Winterfell's walls were ancient and craggy, with many hand and footholds to assist in climbing. Bran climbed higher up the Broken Tower, towards the part that gave it it's name, using the ivy to further assist his climb. But as he approached the open part of the tower, strange sounds reached his ears. Odd moans, grunts and groans of passion, not what he was expecting to hear. He shinned round the edge towards the broken part, inching closer to peer in and see what was going on. Two people were engaged in what was obviously very passionate sexual relations; Bran wasn't ignorant of that, despite how shocked his mother would be if she knew. He moved closer, trying to see who it was, saw the blonde hair of both of them… and his jaw dropped. It was the Queen, on her knees and gasping, and behind her mounting her was her twin brother, the Kingslayer. Bran knew at once that this was not right; brothers and sisters did not do this together. He made to scramble away but in doing so his foot caught a loose stone and it fell with a loud noise. Both of them jolted up and saw him; the Queen let out a shriek and fell backwards.

"He saw us! Stop him! Stop him, he saw us!", she cried.

Bran scrambled away and down the ivy, grabbing and seeking the holds that would aid his descent. Above he could see the Kingslayer looking down at him with an odd expression. Was it pity, or fear? No time. He scrambled down to ground level and darted through a door into the castle, away from the tower that would be forever tainted by what he had just seen.

Above, in the tower, Jaime Lannister was pulling his boots on almost lazily whilst his sister stormed and ranted about the place, angrily tearing into first him, then the boy, then him again; him for not finding them a better place to do this, the boy for having the gall to discover them. He found that part amusing, even as he squirmed inside with fear.

"Our secret is discovered! And you assured me this place was safe!", she was storming.

"I thought it would be. I mean, who expects a boy to be climbing on the walls?", he replied.

"He can't be allowed to tell anyone!"

"He won't tell. And if he does, who'd believe him?"

"I don't believe you. And I don't want chances taken. Go after him and make sure he stays quiet."

He raised an eyebrow.

"How?", he asked.

"I don't care. Any way, permanently, if you have to.", she said.

He blanched; she wanted him to kill a child, never mind that, the son of their own host. Did she even comprehend how much of a big deal that was? He knew he could hardly talk about violating rules, the man who murdered the king he was sworn to protect and who buggered his own twin sister, but killing a member of your host's family under their roof, breaking guest right, was absolutely unthinkable. Not even Father, at his most ruthless, would have contemplated it.

"You want me to kill him?", he said incredulously.

"If you have to.", she said with a dismissive shrug, the weight of it evidently lost on her.

"I won't.", he replied.

She looked like he'd just struck her in the face.

"What?", she said dangerously.

"I won't.", he repeated.

"You won't?"

"I won't. Do you have any idea of what you've just asked? Murder a young boy, nay, a boy who is the son of our host? Our heads would be on spikes before the day is out."

"So, what? We leave him alone and hope that somehow, either he won't tell anyone or he won't be believed?"

"More or less."

Something deadly flashed in her eyes for a moment.

"Well, if that's your answer….", she said ominously.

And she stalked out, muttering to herself. Meanwhile, Bran leant against the wall of the corridor, catching his breath and trying to come to terms with what he had just seen. The Queen and her brother, together intimately! By the Old Gods! He had to tell Father! Or Mother, since Father wasn't here. But would he be believed?

Bran didn't know how he could possibly have snuck up on him wearing that armour, but some sixth sense warned him just in time to dodge a massive greatsword as it was swung down towards him, cleaving a chunk out of the stone wall instead of cutting him in two.

"What?!", he gasped.

And then he realised and the realisation nearly made him void into his smallclothes. Towering over him, so large that he seemed to fill the entire passageway, was the huge knight that had ridden in with the King, the one they called the Mountain. Very apt, since from where he trembled he looked about the size of one. There was feral bloodlust burning in his eyes as he stared down at the boy and brought the huge sword up to cleave him in half again.

"Wait!", he cried.

It wouldn't have made any difference had he not said it, because the huge man was intent on killing him. But this was Winterfell, this was the North and he was a Stark. The sword collided with an overhead iron candelabra and this fell onto the Mountain's head. It did not kill him, but he suddenly found himself tangled in the wreckage of it and Bran's fear-addled mind unfroze. With a terrified squeak that was drowned by the furious roar of the Mountain, he turned and ran for his life.


	5. Chapter 5

Bran dashed through the corridors of Winterfell, feeling and hearing the gigantic man pursuing him. It felt a bit like the games of hide-and-seek he would play with the other children in Winterfell, but those games had not had him feeling like he'd lose control of his bladder when he was being sought. Left, right, right, left, left, right. Finally he burst out into the main courtyard and, to his immense relief, he saw Jory Cassel and a contingent of guards marching towards him. Jory halted.

"Brandon Stark, sir, what's wrong?", he asked.

"Help! He's trying to kill me!", Bran gasped.

"Who is?", said Jory, sword half-drawn already.

But the answer to that came crashing into the courtyard after him. The Mountain looked even more terrifying now, if that were even possible. He saw Bran and charged, bellowing like a bull. Jory and his men drew their swords and put themselves between Bran and the huge man.

"Run! We'll hold him off!", Jory called over his shoulder.

Bran turned and sprinted for the godswood, hearing the cries and clashing of steel behind him. He slammed the doors of the godswood shut and pulled down the heavy wooden bar with difficulty. On the other side, he could hear sounds of battle and bowed his head, tears in his eyes; poor Jory. He turned and ran deeper into the godswood, seeking sanctuary. He knew, in the back of his mind, that the sacred ground of either the godswood or his mother's little sept wouldn't stop that monstrous man from killing him, but he was a scared child and this sped him towards the weirwood, which was as grand as ever. Two soldiers were standing guard by it, but they raised their weapons as he approached.

"Young Brandon Stark, what is it?", the taller of them asked.

Bran opened his mouth to tell them, but was drowned out by a huge crashing and splintering of wood behind him; the Mountain had broken through the doors. He was bleeding badly from a head wound and several lacerations on his chest and left arm, but still standing. He made his way towards Bran, who stumbled back towards the weirwood. The Stark guardsmen raced forwards to protect him, spears and shields at the ready.

"Stand down, or we will attack!", the shorter one said.

But the Mountain paid him no heed. Bran watched in horror as the two men attacked the huge knight, managing to get in a few good blows; the taller one actually managed to pierce him below the ribs before he was gutted with the gigantic claymore. Bran pressed himself against the trunk of the weirwood tree, as though trying to absorb himself into the bark and escape, as the Mountain advanced on him. There was a flash of white fur, an explosive growl and then Summer was tearing in from the side, sinking his teeth into the giant's arm and hanging on. The Mountain let out a great bellow and swung his arm; Summer flew from it, struck an oak tree with a whimper and a muffled crunch, before falling to the ground and moving no more.

"Summer!", Bran cried in horror.

But the Mountain was between him and his direwolf and he could only sink to the earthen floor of the godswood, his back on the trunk as he gazed up. The Mountain's right arm was mangled, bloody mess but he still possessed enough strength in his other arm to raise the sword, stained with the blood of the guardsmen he'd slaughtered in the pursuit of the boy. Bran pushed himself to his feet, staring the huge man in the face with a defiant look.

"I am a Stark of Winterfell. I will not die cowering before you!"

And he spat in his face; Gregor Clegane flinched, for he was unused to his victims showing anything other than fear, then roared and raised the sword to cut the boy in half. Bran's eyes watered with fear but he kept them open, bracing himself for the blow… which never came.

Bran was never sure exactly what happened, even though he witnessed it himself. It was like the tree itself moved, lashing out at Gregor Clegane. There was a huge surge beneath his feet, a creaking of wood; the wind screamed something that sounded like "NO!", and Gregor Clegane, a towering giant of a man who could cut horses in half and punch stone pillars so that they shattered, was thrown backwards through the air with the ease of someone swatting a fly. He hit the ground hard, rolled three times and came to a stop, utterly out cold. Bran blinked, not entirely comprehending what had just happened, then dashed towards Summer's prone form.

"Summer? Summer, wake up!", he said.

There was a great racket by the smashed-in gate and suddenly people were pouring in, guards with weapons and expressions that indicated they were ready and willing to use them. Catelyn dashed in behind them, her hair in disarray; Sansa, who shrieked at the sight of the dead guards; Arya, Meera and Jojen, all of whom had weapons in their hands; Septa Mordane, whose hands flew to her mouth in shock. Catelyn came dashing over to Bran.

"Brandon. Brandon, are you all right? What happened here?", she demanded, hugging him close.

"Him. That one, the Mountain, he tried to kill me!", he said, pointing at the huge form.

The guards were ranged warily around him, spears and swords ready to pincushion him if he so much as opened one eye.

"No! Wait!", Catelyn said.

"My Lady?", one of them said.

"I want to know why he did this. As will Ned. Put him in chains and lock him up."

"As you command, Lady Stark."

A cart was ordered brought and he was moved, with difficulty and none-too-gently, onto it. But Bran's attention was caught by a new arrival. Ser Jaime Lannister, back in his golden armour and white cloak, had just entered the godswood with his sword drawn. His green eyes fell on the dead guards, then onto the Mountain as he was being wheeled out, and then settled on Bran. Something worked behind them and a look of utter shock and horror came over the Kingslayer's handsome face as the dots connected in his mind.

"She can't have. No, no, she can't have.", he murmured.


	6. Chapter 6

Robert Baratheon could confidently claim to have never been frightened in his life; not when his parents died and he became the head of his house not long after reaching manhood, not when he saw what a wretched and pathetically unstable being the Mad King had become at the Tourney at Harrenhal, not even the day before the Trident when he caved in Rhaegar Targaryen's chest with his hammer. On that day, he hadn't even considered losing so fear did not worm it's way into his heart. But now, as he walked alongside Ned trying to talk him down, he was not ashamed to say he was legitimately terrified.

They'd returned to Winterfell in great spirits, having brought down two boars, five deer and a score of rabbits for the evening meal, only to find the place in utter chaos with guards and servants and smallfolk dashing in all directions. He'd had to bellow at the very top of his voice, which he hadn't done since challenging Rhaegar at the Trident, to focus their attention and then demanded answers. What had followed was a nearly hysterical woman informing them that Gregor Clegane had for reasons unknown, gone on a rampage and attempted to murder Ned's second son, killing eight Stark men-at-arms in the process before something in the godswood knocked him out. Ned had then dismounted his horse in one swift movement and dashed inside looking for Catelyn, who confirmed it twice over, the second time for Robert's benefit when he arrived huffing and puffing (by the gods, he'd gotten fat!). Ned had gone completely rigid, like the stone statues in the crypts, and the very air around him had gone cold before he stormed into his solar, ripped that massive Valyrian steel greatsword of his off the wall with enough force to rip the scabbard off it and stridden with doom-laden purpose in the direction of the outbuilding where Clegane was being held. Robert had never seen Ned move with such coldness and deliberation, and the fury blazing in his eyes was terrible to behold.

"Now, Ned. Ned! Maybe you should just stop and think about this for a moment.", he said.

He paused to wonder if he'd actually just said that, but Ned didn't even slow his pace.

"I took that monster in as a guest despite my feelings on him, and he repays that by trying to murder my son and killing eight of my own loyal men. I will take his head for this, and mount it in the great hall!"

Ned was holding Ice aloft with one hand, and his left one at that, showing how much strength his fury had lent him. As they approached the building, they saw something that made both of them swear profusely. The small contingent of Stark men were facing off a larger number of Lannister redcloaks, who were arranged menacingly around them but kept at bay by their spears, for now anyway. In front of the redcloaks was Queen Cersei, who was shrieking something in a very petulant and demanding tone.

"I am your Queen and I command you to stand aside!", she yelled.

"We are under orders from Lord and Lady Stark to keep-", began one of the Stark men

"I don't care what the he-wolf and she-wolf told you! You are holding a bannerman of House Lannister without warrant or charge, and I demand you release him or I will order my men to attack."

The Westerlands men behind her smirked and drew their swords, only for the smirks to shrink as the Northmen responded in kind. The redcloaks were used to people obeying them instantly rather than offering resistance, and the Stark men had the advantage of loyalty, stubbornness, familiar ground and longer reaching weapons. But Robert and Ned put paid to any bloodshed.

"STOP!", thundered Robert.

"Robert! There you are! These Northern savages have taken Ser Gregor and locked him up for nothing. Order them to release him!", shrieked Cersei.

"I will do not such thing!", Robert said.

"Then I shall write to Father and tell him of this. Holding one of his bannermen in prison for nothing is an act of war. He will call his men and march up here and raze this place from the fetid swamps to that stupid ice wall!"

Robert stared at her, wondering if she'd lost the plot, but it was Ned who silenced her by planting Ice's blade in a rock nearby; it split in half cleanly and the Lannisters balked.

"If you do, I hope you explain to your lord father that Ser Gregor is in custody for trying to murder my son, and killing eight of my men into the bargain. He has broken guest right as well, which is more than enough cause for me to march in there and cleave his head from his shoulders on the spot."

"You have no right to do that.", sneered the Lannister queen.

The Northmen gaped at her and even a couple of her own men exchanged bewildered looks; guest right was one of the most ancient and hallowed edicts in Westeros, and breaking it was considered unthinkable. That part was just about the only thing every religion agreed on, and it was said that to break guest right would bring down the combined wrath of every god who ever existed on your head. The circumstances of how the Mountain had been subdued, belted through the air by the tree of the Old Gods, had spread like wildfire and already the news would doubtless be spread on the winds by evensong to reach every corner of the continent. Perhaps it would bring a resurgence in the faith of the Old Gods, mused Ned. But now he raised Ice and held her, point in the ground.

"It is my sworn duty to uphold the laws and traditions of my forefathers. Ser Gregor has committed a terrible crime against my family and the North and must be made to pay, with his life in this case.", Ned said grimly.

"I don't care about your duties and your obligations.", Cersei said.

"Well, tough shit. This is the North, your Grace, and he falls under my jurisdiction unless the King decides otherwise."

"Robert! I demand you refuse this Northerner the right to execute a man of the Westerlands, my father's bannerman."

Robert glared at her contemptuously.

"Will I hell! That monster tried to murder a boy, the son of my brother-in-arms, no less! As far as I'm concerned, Ned can take his head and his arms and whatever else and if your father's got a problem with it, tell him to shit more of that gold he's so proud of until he can buy another one."

Cersei's face blanched and for a moment, it looked like she would indeed order her men to attack. Ned's fingers gripped Ice's hilt even harder and the Lannister men shifted uncomfortably; they knew what Valyrian steel could do. But she then relaxed and, with a visible effort, turned and made to walk away.

"This is not over!", she spat.

And she was gone, with the redcloaks hurriedly following. Ned turned to his own men.

"Is he awake yet?", he asked.

"No, Lord Stark.", one of them replied.

"Very well. Send word to me immediately when he does."

He then strode off with Robert back into the castle's walls, where he was accosted by Maester Luwin.

"Lord Stark!", he said.

"Ah, Luwin. What news?", Ned asked.

"Jory will live, my Lord. He took a very nasty blow and might not be able to use his left arm as well as he used to, but he will live."

Ned breathed a sigh of relief; Jory was a very good man and he'd been dreadfully worried.

"And Bran's wolf?", he asked.

"Injured, but recovering. His right leg is broken and will need time to heal, but he was never in dire straights."

That too was a relief; by all accounts the wolf had attacked Gregor savagely in an attempt to save his master, tearing a chunk out of his arm before being swatted aside.

"Where is Catelyn?", he asked.

"Lady Stark is in the godswood, my lord.", Luwin replied.

"The godswood?"

"Yes, my lord."

Ned was confused; Cat was a follower of the Southern gods, and by her own admission did not like the godswood as she felt unwelcome in it. But, sure enough, there she was in the godswood, and sitting beneath the weirwood no less. The old face had become slightly happier, returning to it's melancholy expression but with the corners of the mouth upturned as if preparing to smile. He was silent as he approached, so he witnessed Cat put her hand up and stroke the bark of the ancient tree, and hear her quiet murmurs.

"I'm not sure what to say. Ned tells me you aren't much for prayers and sermons and offerings, but I feel like I must do something. You saved my son, you saved him from that monster even though he was born from me and I have told him of my own gods. I won't pretend to understand you, but I will thank you. Thank you, for saving him."

Ned smiled; the Old Gods were not like the Seven, but he was sure they would appreciate the gesture. As it was, a sudden gust of wind sounded a bit like a sigh of pleasure as it blew through the branches overhead. He cleared his throat and Cat jumped.

"Oh! Ned! I was just, um…..", she said awkwardly.

"Talking to a tree?", he said with a smile.

"Well, yes.", she said, returning the smile.

They turned and observed the weirwood for a moment before returning to business.

"Did you do the deed, Ned?", Cat asked, her voice bitter.

"No. He's still unconscious and as much of a monster that he is, it is dishonourable to slay a sleeping beast, no matter how savage it is.", Ned said.

"I suppose. But I cannot restrain the feeling of taking that sword and cutting his head off myself."

"Wait. Now that I have a cooler head, I would hear from him the reason why he did this before I swing the sword."

"Bran says it's because he saw something, something he wasn't meant to see."

"What?"

There was a noise from the gate, and they turned to see Bran standing there with, of all people, Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer was not wearing his armour and white cloak, but had also dispensed with his usual arrogance that had so frustrated Ned before. In it's place was a kind of numb horror mixed with resignation; it was like he carried a huge burdening secret and had resolved to disclose it despite the cost to himself.

"I can tell you.", he said hoarsely.

Ned and Catelyn exchanged looks, then looked at Bran. He nodded.

"All of a sudden, Kingslayer, I am very very interested in what you have to say.", Ned said, advancing on him slowly.


	7. Chapter 7

They were sitting in Ned's solar, Ned and Robert behind the great desk and Jaime in front of it. Also in the room, by his request, were Ser Barristan Selmy and his brother Tyrion, who was looking somewhere between interest and apprehension. Bran was also in the room, but lingering by the door in shadow.

"Exactly what is it you have to say? Did you order the Mountain to murder my son?", Ned asked.

"No. It was not I who ordered him.", Jaime said.

"Then who?", growled Robert.

"My sister.", Jaime replied.

Ned's face darkened and Robert almost exploded.

"That bitch! I'll wring her neck for this!", he bellowed.

"Wait! Why did she give the order?", Ned asked, his voice flinty.

"Because….. Because the boy caught us.", Jaime said.

"Us? Wait, what are you saying?", Robert asked.

Here was the point of no return, Jaime knew. Taking a deep breath, he poured it all out; the incest between him and his twin sister, the tower where Bran had seen them, Cersei's orders to kill him, his refusal to harm the child and his shock and horror upon realising what his sister had done. For a long, long moment after he finished, there was silence. None of the men in the room made a sound. He braced himself from the eruption but it did not come from the source he expected. With a furious roar, Ser Barristan lunged forwards and tackled him from the chair, gauntleted fingers closing around his throat as he slammed him against the door.

"You! You little-... I will burn your white cloak for this and tear your page in the Book into pieces so small not even a Myrish spyglass could find them!", the old knight raged.

Jaime gasped and choked, trying to pry the iron death grip loose from his throat, but it was a command from Robert that made Selmy halt.

"At ease, Selmy! Control yourself! By the gods, did I really just say that?", Robert said.

Ned sat there, frozen in numb disbelief.

"Robert. Do you realise what this means?", he said quietly.

"Of course I do, Ned! My damn wife's been cheating on me for gods knows how long with her own damn brother!", Robert said.

"Yes, but do you also realise what else it means?"

Robert stared at him, not understanding at first, so Ned gestured meaningfully towards Bran. The cogs turned slowly beneath the king's black hair, then he realised.

"By the gods! The children! My children! What if they aren't mine?", he said.

"My Lord?", Tyrion said, speaking for the first time which was a surprise in itself.

"Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen! What if they aren't actually mine, but…."

The gravity of that struck them all heavily; if the children were not Robert's, that meant the line of succession was in jeopardy, as was the future of House Baratheon itself. Only Stannis had a child, and she was scarred by greyscale and a girl on top of that; Robert knew she was a clever lass, but there would be great opposition nonetheless. Renly was of marrying age, but considering his….. fling with Loras Tyrell of Highgarden, he might not be able to be counted on for children. Robert rounded on Jaime.

"You! Tell me! Did you father those kids?", he growled menacingly.

"More than likely.", he said quietly.

"What the bloody hell does that mean? Did you or didn't you?"

"Look at them, then! Look at them and tell me if you see anything of yourself in them!"

Robert opened his mouth….. and then closed it. True, they carried the Baratheon name but he could see nothing of himself in them. They all had the damned Lannister looks, golden hair and green eyes, and that Joffrey… he had often wondered just where he could have gone so wrong with the boy. But if he was indeed the son of Cersei and her brother….., well, the Targaryens had done that for centuries and look at how that turned out. He still shuddered at the memory of the Mad King at the Tourney of Harrenhal, with foot-long nails and hair and beard almost to his feet, his hysterical laughter and towering rages and sobbing fits within seconds of each other. The incestuous breeding might have allowed them to keep those damnable Valyrian looks, but it had led to a vein of instability that had eventually brought the family to it's knees.

"You realise this is treason? You have interfered with the line of succession, broken your Kingsguard vows and cuckolded your king?", he said.

"Yes.", Jaime said, looking at his feet.

"I knew you were an arrogant prick, but why did you tell us of this? You knew the consequences. Why confess?"

Jaime looked at Bran.

"Because whilst I am many things, what I am not is a murderer of children. Yes, I stabbed Aerys from behind and then cut his throat, but I did not kill his grandchildren. My father's men, Gregor, did that, on his orders I don't bloody know. I would never have hurt them, and had I known what would happen to them you'd have found me defending them instead of sitting on that damnable throne.", Jaime said.

Ned was still seated behind his desk, watching the man he had dubbed Kingslayer pour this out and wondering if he had been too quick to judge him. Yes, Jaime had been arrogant and conceited and full of himself, but now here he was confessing things that would probably destroy him and his family.

"I believe you.", he said.

"What?", they all said.

"I believe him. Oh, there will have to be punishment, of course. But he didn't have to tell us this of his own accord. If he was truly the man we all thought him, he would have kept it secret, denied it, probably even killed anyone who asked about it.", Ned remarked.

There wasn't much fault to be found in those words. Tyrion stood up.

"Lord Stark is right. Speaking from my point, my brother has done some incredibly stupid things. He is bullheaded, impetuous, stubborn, short-sighted and foolish-"

"How is this helping me, brother?", Jaime asked, smiling in spite of himself.

"- but he is also capable of decency. Growing up as a dwarf was difficult, especially since I was blamed by my father and my sister for the death of my mother, who was a decent woman as far as I know. Jaime could have hated me as well, blamed for being the cause of growing up without a mother, but he didn't. He stood up for me, protected me from our sister's petty cruelties, and he didn't have to."

He took a gulp of wine.

"It's also why he joined the Kingsguard. He told me this in private, for he knew Father wanted him as his heir and would never let him join the order. He wanted to be a knight, a true knight, one who defended the king and swore to protect the innocent. He always was more soft-hearted than he let on."

"Lies and slander!", Jaime said, half-jokingly.

"But that same soft-heartedness is what allowed Cersei to lure him into her bed. Twins are said to have a much closer bond than anyone. I don't begrudge him having fallen for her, but he must have realised what kind of woman she is, because this confession betrays and damns her as much as him. And if he were not a changed person, he would not have told us this."

There was silence for a very long time after these words. They were torn between many emotions, but the desire to gut Jaime very slowly with a blunt and rusty sword had faded from Ned, Robert and Ser Barristan. Finally, the old knight spoke.

"I hope you realise what must be done, my Lord.", Ser Barristan said.

"Hrm.", Robert said.

"The Queen must be arrested, for one. That is imperative, before she does any more damage."

"The Queen? She is queen no more, I can tell you that! I'll have the marriage annulled or broken or whatever, and if those pissants in the Sept of Baelor kick up a fuss I'll kick their arses from the Red Keep to the Stormlands."

"And the children? What of the children?", Ned asked.

Robert sighed heavily.

"They'll have to be told. Gently. I will do it. Never been a father to them much before now, and turns out I'm not even their father, but I'll do a father's duty and tell them myself.", he said.

"What if they don't believe you?", Ned asked.

"I'll tell them. I'll even sign a confession.", Jaime said.

"They might not take it well.", Ned cautioned.

"Tommen and Myrcella won't be too difficult. They're good and sweet children, your grace. Please don't do anything rash to them.", Tyrion said.

"I won't. They won't be royals anymore, though. This whole thing will be…. difficult for them to adjust to."

"It's life-shattering. They will have to spend the rest of their lives with that knowledge, and people will probably try and kill them for it."

This was true; many of the pious and zealous types would demand the children be killed as abominations. Whilst Joffrey would be an obvious point, Myrcella and Tommen had nothing in them that was deserving of hate.

"Very well. Ser Barristan, have the former Queen brought here.", Robert ordered.

The old knight bowed and left the room.

"Lord Tyrion, would you mind sending a raven to your father in Casterly Rock? We have much to discuss with him."

"Yes, your Grace."

Ned got out of his chair and offered it to Robert.

"If you're sitting with a desk between you and her, you might be less inclined to do something you'll regret.", he said.

"Good point, Ned. Oh, gods, this is going to be difficult.", Robert said.

When Cersei entered Ned's solar with Ser Barristan, her first sight was Robert sitting behind the great desk, Ned Stark beside him and, she saw with a twinge of nervousness, the boy who had seen her and Jaime. She raised her nose imperiously.

"I hope this means you've convinced these Northerners to release Ser Gregor from his unlawful imprisonment.", she said.

"No, I haven't. And this isn't about him. It's about you. Sit down.", Robert responded.

"If this isn't about releasing Ser Gregor then I-"

"I said SIT DOWN, WOMAN!"

His sudden yelling shook in the confined space of the room and she was cowed enough to drop into the chair opposite him without another word. Robert took a deep breath.

"This is about you, and what you've been doing for the past decade. Ned's son has told me a very interesting story."

Cersei shot a look of utter loathing and hatred at Bran, who was standing next to his father. The boy shrank a little but did not look away.

"Whatever the boy might have told you is nothing but filthy lies, Robert. Children are prone to making up stories or telling lies if they can get away with it. I trust Lord Eddard will have him soundly whipped for it, or I can have one of my own if he hasn't the spine.", she said.

"You will not touch my son. And if any man does, I'll hand him over to Roose Bolton.", Ned said, glaring at her.

Cersei looked back at Robert.

"The boy told me that when he was climbing the walls of Winterfell, he saw you and your brother, Jaime, having very intimate relations with each other.", he said.

"Lies!", she shrieked.

And with frightening suddenness, she lunged at Bran with her hands going for his throat.

"Lying little wolf pup! I'll strangle you and your damned wolf!"

But she never got there. Instead, she saw Ned's gloved hand swing up and backhand her across the face, sending her flying back to crash to the floor. She put a hand to her face.

"How dare you strike me, your Queen! I will tell my father of this and he'll come and hang you all from the walls of this wretched castle!", she screamed.

"You have just tried to kill my son, twice now. I would shut your mouth right now if I were you.", Ned Stark growled at her.

It was at this moment that Cersei realised whose feet she had just landed at. Jaime was looking down at her with an odd expression.

"Jaime! Good. You saw him strike me! Kill him, and his son, and his bitch wife and whore daughters! Kill them all!", she stormed.

"No, sister. Be quiet.", he said.

She pushed herself to her feet and made to leave, but the door was guarded by Ser Barristan, and his hand was on his sword. Cersei turned back to face Robert.

"Ser Jaime here also had something very interesting to tell us. Regarding Bran.", Robert said.

She went white with shock and stared at her twin in utter speechlessness.

"He tells me that not only have you been having an affair with him for the past decade, that the children you claim are mine are in fact his. I should have seen it before, but now I do and I am not happy.", Robert said.

Cersei was, for once, unable to summon a retort.

"You have placed the future of my house and my dynasty in jeopardy, tampered with the line of succession and generally been an utter cunt, two of which are treason against the throne. You have also conspired to murder the son of a Lord Paramount of Westeros, for which the charge is also treason.", Robert reeled off.

Cersei was quickly starting to visibly panic.

"In light of these crimes, I hereby dissolve our marriage. You will be stripped of your titles and privileges and leave my sight.", Robert said.

She flew at him, wild-eyed.

"You can't! You can't! I am the Queen, you cannot do this!", she shrieked.

"Yes, I can! And I have! Now, remove her from my sight!", Robert bellowed.

Ser Barristan stood aside to let two Stark men enter and seize the former Queen and drag her off, where her mingled screams and oaths and threats and pleas echoed long after she was gone. Robert nursed his head with one hand.

"Gods, that was hard. But pretty satisfying.", he said.

"It was, your Grace.", Tyrion said

"You did well in keeping your temper, though.", Ned remarked.

True, but then he recalled that whilst Cersei had been dealt with, there was still the matter of the children. He'd have to tell Joffrey that he was no longer a prince and would never be king.

"Now for the hard part.", he said.


	8. Chapter 8

The three royal children were sitting in one of the bedrooms of Winterfell, all of them curious as to what was going on. Joffrey was filled with angry and vicious energy over their mother's arrest, vowing that the barbarians would pay for it with steel and blood. Myrcella and Tommen sat quietly on their own, away from their brother. They too, were confused but knew that their father was coming to sort it out. When the door opened and he entered, Joffrey immediately strode up to him.

"Father! Good! Why has Mother been arrested? It's the Starks, isn't it? Let me set Mother's men on them, and show these savages what happens when you dare to touch a royal.", he said.

Robert sighed heavily; now that he knew, he understood why he had seen so little of himself in his children. His heart was heavy as he looked at Tommen and Myrcella, such sweet and kind children whose lives were about to be shattered.

"Joffrey, sit down.", he said.

"Why, Father?", he asked.

"Sit down!"

Joffrey sat down, cowed. Robert took a deep breath.

"Your mother is in prison for treason.", he began.

"Treason? What treason? Queens cannot commit treason! It's the Starks who have committed treason by-", Joffrey interjected.

"Be silent! If you speak out of turn again, it'll be the worst for you!", Robert growled.

Joffrey shut up.

"Yes, even kings and queens can be wrong and commit treason. Your mother has done so, in one of the worst ways possible. She has tampered with the line of succession."

"What does that mean, Father?", Tommen asked, innocently curious.

"That's just the thing, son. I'm not your father. Your mother has lied all these years; none of you are my children."

There were a few moments of silence to allow them to process this information.

"Then whose are we?", Myrcella asked.

Robert swallowed; the moment of reckoning.

"Your father, your real father, is Jaime Lannister. The Queen's twin brother."

None of them showed any reaction at first, as the enormity of that sank in, and then it did. Tommen's face twisted in a mixture of disgust and disbelief, Myrcella's an odd look of surprise, disgust and realisation, and Joffrey's became hate-filled.

"Lies! Filthy lies! These Starks are spreading malicious slander about us to weaken our hold on the crown! I'll have all their heads for this!", he said, springing to his feet.

"You will do no such thing.", Robert told him.

But Joffrey continued to rant and rave, spitting furious bile and vowing to punish the Starks with such viciousness that even Robert shrank away from him. He beckoned to the other two and they scurried out of the room with him. He slammed the door and locked it.

"He needs to calm down.", Robert said.

Inside they could hear Joffrey kicking things, throwing them, swearing a blue streak that made even Robert start in surprise. He ushered the younger children away.

"You don't need to hear any of that. Best to let him blow himself out and then I'll talk to him properly."

"But Father- I mean, your Grace, what does that mean for us?", Tommen asked.

"It means that you are no longer royal. I'm sorry, Tommen, but you and your sister are no longer a prince and princess of the realm."

"So, we're bastards?", Myrcella said.

"In a way, yes. You're certainly not Baratheons. I don't know why I didn't see it before, because everyone born to my line has black hair."

Tommen reached up and ran a hand through his golden locks. His face twisted in disgust and he wiped his hand on his trousers like it was soiled.

"Mother used to say how I should be proud of my hair. Now I just want to cut it off.", he said sullenly.

"You can talk to her, if you want. She's locked up, but I'll understand if you want to see her. She is your mother, after all."

Tommen and Myrcella looked at each other.

"I don't think she was. She barely ever interacted with us, it was always Joffrey. And whenever she did pay attention to us, it was less like a mother and more like we were just extensions of her.", Myrcella said.

"Yes. She ordered me to no longer play with Bran and the other boys because I was her son, and she would never have done that. But playing with them, I haven't been this happy ever.", Tommen remarked.

Robert regarded them for a moment.

"You like it here? I thought you would want to return to King's Landing as soon as possible. Winterfell isn't exactly….. luxurious.", he said.

"I know, but everything is somehow nicer here. Simpler, but somehow better.", Myrcella said.

"Yeah. I've had more fun in the two days I've been here than all the years in King's Landing.", Tommen chimed in.

Robert took a good look at the children; he had ignored them, he was ashamed to admit, and if he hadn't he might have noticed that they weren't his. But now he could see that they seemed less meek and downtrodden than they had been in the capital. Winterfell had birthed a new fire in them; Tommen was recalling how he had run and jumped and ridden and sparred with the boys of Winterfell, all things that bloody nag had banned him from doing in King's Landing, whilst Myrcella was recalling her friendship with Sansa Stark and Jeyne Poole, better companions than her mother's twittering handmaids. They had come to enjoy their time up here, and the Northerners had seemed to like them. It would be cruel to force them to return to the capital where they would have to endure the stigma of being incestuous bastards, if not outright demands for their heads. He knew those obsequious fools in the Great Sept would demand their deaths as abominations, probably have them stoned to death. They might be the spawn of those bloody Lannister twins, but that was no fault of their own and they did not deserve to be punished for that. Perhaps it would be best for them to stay up here.

"I'll talk to Ned. If you really want to stay here in Winterfell, I'm sure he won't mind."

Both children looked very happy at the prospect, and Tommen actually hugged him. He was still smiling warmly at that as he made his way to Ned's solar, pushing the door open to behold Ned, Tyrion and Ser Barristan all standing there, looking grim.

"Oh, gods, what now?", Robert asked.

Tyrion held up a raven scroll.

"My father's response. It seems he hasn't taken the news well.", Tyrion said.

"How not well?", Robert asked.

"Accusing me of filthy lies and rallying his bannermen to march north and set the place aflame from the Neck to the Wall.", Tyrion replied evenly.

"Oh.", was Robert's response.

Ned held up a second raven scroll.

"Fortunately, his brother Kevan was able to temper that. Lord Tywin is sailing for White Harbour with the intention of coming here to ascertain the truth of Lord Tyrion's statement.", he said.

"Tywin's coming here, to Winterfell?", Robert asked.

"Yes. And he's coming with quite a few troops. Things could get ugly.", Tyrion remarked.

"He'll hear it from me. And the Kingslayer, if we can manage it.", Robert said.

All of the gathered men realised just how bad the situation could get. Tywin Lannister was a man whose wrath it was exceedingly unwise to provoke and he was obsessed with maintaining his family's legacy and reputation; he'd exterminated two vassal houses for rebelling against House Lannister, and now that it had been ruined by his two golden children there was no telling how the man would react. Tyrion knew that this debacle could very well bring House Lannister down in flames; Lannisters as yet unborn to his great-grandchildren would be feeling the aftereffects of this. Some small part of him laughed at the irony, which was noticed.

"What could possibly be so funny, Imp?", Robert asked.

"Just when I stop and think. My whole life my father has resented me, calling me a disgrace and a shame to the family. Refusing to consider making me his heir, putting all his hopes on Cersei and Jaime to ensure we'd rise up and now all of that is ashes because of them, the golden children. It's funny when you think about it."

It was, and even the dour Ned couldn't resist chuckling with them. The smiles vanished when they heard a bloodcurdling scream from elsewhere in the castle, a sound that made Ned's blood turn to ice.

"Sansa!"

He was up and tearing along the corridor in the direction the scream had come from, the others panting in his wake. The door to her room was thrown wide open and there was distinct signs of a struggle, her direwolf Lady just pulling herself to her feet with a nasty cut across her muzzle and looking supremely pissed off and bloodthirsty; considering she was the gentlest of her litter, this boded ill and was quite frightening. A second scream, even worse than the first one, lent him terrifying speed as he flew to where it had come from. As he burst into the courtyard, his heart almost failed. Lying on the ground, holding his stomach and bleeding copiously, was Jon and standing over him was Joffrey. The former prince's face was twisted in insane anger and viciousness as he held a bloody dagger to Sansa's throat. The girl was even paler than usual beneath her Tully red hair and shaking with fear and sobs but not daring to make any sudden moves. The blade held to her throat was, Ned realised with sudden terror, one of Valyrian steel; one move on either part would open her neck in an instant. Her previous scream had brought people running from all over the castle; Catelyn burst out of a door with Rickon and Arya and let out a scream of her own at the sight of her daughter being held at knifepoint. Ned feared that she would rush the boy, but she was too smart for that. Guards ranged themselves warily around them, looking for an opportune moment. Robb and Theon came running from where they'd been training with Ser Rodrik and let out noises of outrage; Robb made to charge but Joffrey brandished the blade at him.

"Stay back! Another step and I open her throat!", he screeched.

Robb halted; the kid was not bluffing. He'd just had his entire world come crashing down around him, lost the only thing that mattered and was unable to accept it. It made for a very dangerous situation. Sansa tried to speak through her sobs.

"Joffrey! Joffrey, please, you're my-", she said.

Joffrey cuffed her round the head with the hilt of the dagger.

"Silence!", he wailed.

Robert took a cautious step forwards.

"Joffrey.", he said placatingly.

"Father! Good, good! And I see you brought the Stark lord, even better!", the boy said, eyes glinting madly.

"Joffrey. Let her go, now. Be a good boy and don't hurt her."

"Why shouldn't I? Her family hurt me and mother with their filthy lies. Why shouldn't I hurt her?"

Maybe because you're surrounded by her family and half a hundred armed guards who'll tear you apart if you do, Robert wanted to say. The boy was clearly unhinged and desperate as he waved the blade around carelessly.

"Just let her go.", he repeated.

"Only if her family admits to their lies. Admits here and now, in front of everyone, that they lied about mother and me! Only then, will I consider letting her g- OWWWWWWWWWWW!"

Sansa had been abducted in her room whilst sewing, and had managed to keep ahold of her needle. The moment Joffrey was waving the knife around rather than keep it pressed to her throat, she had taken the needle in her fist and plunged it into his thigh. Joffrey let out a piglike squeal of pain and released her, allowing Sansa to wriggle free and escape. He rounded on her furiously.

"I'll gut you for that, you little c-"

And another scream as little Rickon darted forwards on all fours like his wolf and bit the bastard on the ankle. The dagger came up to lash out only to be knocked from his hand with an arrow fired by Bran. Arya ran forwards and planted both her booted feet in his crotch, making him turn purple and fall to the ground in a muddy puddle, clutching his groin and wheezing. By the time the Stark guards reached him, he no longer resembled a prince. Ned barely spared him a glance as he walked towards his family, ordering him tossed in a cell and none too gently at that. Jon had already been lifted onto a stretcher and borne off with Maester Luwin.

"He- He tried to save me from Joffrey.", Sansa was saying shakily as her mother comforted her.

"Jon?", Catelyn asked.

"Yes. He heard me scream the first time and intercepted us. He tried to convince Joffrey to let me go and…. Joffrey stabbed him. He tried to help me and he got stabbed.", Sansa said, her hands shaking.

Ned was white with fear; if Jon died…

"Maester Luwin will fix him.", Arya said, trying not to show how upset she was herself; she was the closest to Jon of the Stark siblings.

"But if he doesn't make it…", Robb said.

"Then I will hand that thrice-cursed bastard over to Roose Bolton with leave to do whatever he wants with him. But I don't want any of you to entertain such grim thoughts."

Ned said this with such intensity that it scared them; Jon could not die, he could not. He had promised Lyanna. Even Catelyn, with her dislike of Jon, felt that the boy must not be allowed to die. She did not know why, but it was important that he live, and she asked both the old and new gods to ensure that it was so. Yes, she had hated the boy, but he had saved her daughter's life at the possible cost of his own, and that meant something. So as she held her sobbing daughter to her, she hoped that the gods might be merciful enough to grant her prayers a second time, after she failed to live up to her end of the bargain last time.


End file.
